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And bringing me all the fucking luck and magic in the world. Ever since Birdie got here, I have successfully honored her declaration of love, and her nickname, by shooting for birdie on the next twelve holes in a row. All I have to do is make this putt for birdie one last time, and I will have gone from dead last to first place.
The 18th hole can sometimes be a noisy place and extremely stressful, and not just because it’s your last chance in the game. Since out here and back at the 1st hole are where the spectator stands are, there are easily ten times as many people watching these shots than on previous holes. But it’s absolute silence and nothing can be heard but the rustling of the wind through the trees as I look away from Birdie and back down at my ball. With one last deep breath, knowing it doesn’t matter at this point how I place, because I have everything I’ve ever needed standing twenty feet away, I pull my club back about a foot and bring it right back forward to tap my ball, holding my breath as it rolls toward the cup.
And rolls…
And rolls…
And rolls…
And then circles around the lip once before flipping over and dropping right down inside.
“Holy shit.”
The roar of the crowd is instantly deafening. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see everyone in the stands up on their feet, cheering and clapping, and everyone behind the spectator ropes doing the same as I slowly turn around in place.
To find that Birdie has already scrambled under the rope and is charging full-speed ahead at me, tears falling down her cheeks and a bright smile on her face. I have just enough time to drop my putter and brace myself before she’s flying into my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist and her arms around my shoulders.
“Look at you finally not sucking!” She laughs and cries excitedly as my arms lock tightly around her and I bury my face into the side of her neck.
“I love you so fucking much,” I speak against the skin of her neck, squeezing her tighter to me, rocking us from side to side as television cameras and spectators all start moving this way, crowding around the apron of the green.
Sliding one of my palms up her spine, I clutch onto a fistful of her hair and pull her head back a little, crashing my mouth to hers as soon as it’s close enough. Birdie’s tongue immediately tangles with mine, her arms tightening around my shoulders and my hat flying off the back of my head when she grips a handful of my hair and deepens the kiss, her thighs locking tighter around my hips.
Hearing the clicking of camera shutters and sports reporters firing questions at me, I break the kiss, even though I don’t want to. Even though I could spend the rest of my life standing here on this golf course, holding this woman wrapped around me after she gave me a Birdie-launch hug on national television.
“Would you look at that?” Birdie muses as I heft her up higher in my arms, and she runs her fingers through my hair as she looks down at me, both of us completely ignoring everyone around us vying for our attention. “Looks like someone just made a spectacle of himself on national television again.”
I smile up at her when she laughs and then lets out a gasp when I give her ass a little squeeze, not giving one goddamn shit who’s watching or how many times this will make ESPN.
“Yikes. Looks like I might need some help sprucing up my image. Know anyone who can do that for me?” I smirk.
“I might…” she trails off as her legs loosen from around my waist, and I finally let her slide down the front of me. “We can talk about it later… over cookies.”
I groan when she winks at me, knowing she put entirely too many dirty thoughts in my head when I now have to go speak to reporters and then do a press conference, and I probably shouldn’t do that with a boner.
But then I realize who I’m in love with and see a little sliver of sweet Birdie ass cheek when she bends down to grab my hat she knocked off my head, and I know I’m just going to have to get used to it.
And enjoy every single second of giving my best friend the shaft and my heart.EPILOGUEPalmer
“Kiss my putt.”Three months later
“Will you stop with that nonsense? You’re in public, and I’m trying to enjoy my popcorn,” Murphy grumbles.
I laugh against the side of Birdie’s neck, nuzzling my nose under her ear one last time and inhaling her tropical coconut skin before I sit back up on my seat in the bleachers, where Birdie is sitting on the bench in front of me. She’s between my bent legs with my feet resting on either side of her ass on her seat, her back pressed against my chest with her arms resting on top of my thighs. We’re in the fifth inning of her nephew Owen’s first fall baseball game, sitting in the stands of the Summersweet High School baseball diamond, with a nice ocean breeze cooling down the warm night air.
